“I heard something happened at your house,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I just wanted you to know I’m around, if you ever need an extension on something, or just a quiet room during lunch.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I think I’m actually okay. Better than okay, honestly.”
She studied my face for a second, like she was checking the claim against the evidence, then nodded and let it go.
I sat with that small kindness longer than the moment itself probably warranted, surprised by how much it mattered, a teacher noticing something was different without demanding to know exactly what.
Marcus didn’t sign anything that week. Or the next.
I told myself it was fine, that he’d meant what he said about doing it right, in his own time, and I believed him. Some nights, though, doubt crept in anyway, the old kind, the kind that used to make me quietly reorganize my whole personality around whoever might be about to leave.
